mascul

I am the man upon the cross,
my bearing days are over.
I am a fragment without difference,
a stitch between naught and nil.

I am the man who came up the stairs
to light, now on descent to black.
I am he who tarries, trembling
toward the indistinct, the night.

I am the man propelled,
thirty-two feet per second,
per second
to the grave.

I am the man nailed to a flailing star
by barren waves of atmosphere.
I move not, yet move,
like waking into sleep.

I am the man insomniac.
The giftless, the Godless.
The loveless, the flawless.
The paradox is more me than mystery.

All I own is ownership,
I am intransitive.

I am the man whose hand
has wielded soul,
and I am ....
....disappointed.